


Maneem (Full Rewrite)

by Hecallsmehischild



Series: Resilience Saga (Rewrite) [1]
Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Human Experimentation, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Repressed Memories, Torture, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:49:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28818066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hecallsmehischild/pseuds/Hecallsmehischild
Summary: Abandoned to the Earth authorities, Zim has no choice but to play the submissive prisoner until he can convince the Tallests of his mission's worth. When he's placed with a human family as part of his agreement, everything starts to go sideways. (full rewrite, not light editing)
Relationships: OC Relationships
Series: Resilience Saga (Rewrite) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112897
Comments: 19
Kudos: 27





	1. Interrogation

_Cold. So cold. It shouldn't be so cold._

This thought did nothing to change the situation. Zim's PAK didn't respond. He turned inward, sending a signal to his PAK for more heat. The request fizzled as a surge of electricity hit his body. His muscles contracted with a jerk, straining his limbs against the cables looped snug around each wrist and ankle.

He stood in the center of a bare cement room, secured in a standing position, his limbs spread by steel mesh cables. Not a tlchwyrm's length of slack in his bonds. There was some sort of metal band around his neck with sharp bits that stuck through the skin at the base of his skull. At least four spotlights of various lightwaves moved in indeterminate patterns in front of him. He hadn't been allowed any chance to recharge and any attempt to signal his PAK or retrieve items from it was met with a backlash of electric current.

He didn't know how long he had been here, but his voice had given out some time ago. His shrieks and demands sounded cracked. Feeble. Mortifying. How dare his vocal cords betray him like this. He had to show his captors that he was strong. Unbreakable. He lifted his head off his chest, glaring directly into the ultraviolet spotlight, currently making a near figure eight without ever closing it.

He remembered hearing a fragment from some stupid earth film where a human struggled to look brave. That human had snarled, "Show no fear!" to its enfeebled comrade. Zim had laughed. What a silly thing to say. It was simply better to have no fear at all, like an Invader. If you had no fear, you didn't need to bluster about it.

That was him. Invader Zim. There was no fear in him. Not a drop of trembling in his veins, and not a sliver of doubt. No doubt in the Control Brains and their judgment. No wavering in his service of the Almighty Tallests. He was the perfect Invader.

They just hadn't seen it yet. Perhaps there was even sabotage at work. Yes. That was why they had told him that his assignment was actually a shameful exile. Someone—perhaps Tak had found a way back?—had undermined his mission. Clearly she, or some other envious fiend, had conveyed misinformation about his progress directly to the Tallests. Yes. That made sense of their last message, dismissing him from service and mocking him before the Assembly… and the Irken race at large. The Tallests were not wrong, merely deceived regarding his greatness.

Zim flexed his claws, wincing as his wrists chafed against the cords. Blood trickled down his arms. He should have come to this conclusion sooner. Wandering outside in a daze was… perhaps not his greatest moment. A great shmoopiness had come over him after the Tallest's message. Yes, that was it. It was a moment of shmoop where he couldn't think straight.

Curse the Dib for being right outside and being able to think straight. If Zim was having a shmoopy moment, Dib should be incapacitated too! It was only fair!

No. Zim didn't need fairness. Fairness was irrelevant. He just needed a second where they were distracted, or an inch of slack or… maybe a rock candy sandwich. That would be fantastic. And a warmsuit. And to be back in his own base.

They didn't have GIR, did they?

Immediately he requested a communications link to—his body arched, wringing a horrid croak from him as he wrenched in his restraints. The surge ended and he hung limp. Syrupy blood oozed between his teeth.

"Are you ready to speak with us?"

His antennae twitched. The voice came from four distinct points in the room, and Zim could tell where each speaker was. A cowardly human probably would have been intimidated.

This question sounded familiar. Had he been asked this already? Who was this "us" anyway? Flirk. He spat dark green on the cement. Perhaps it was time for subterfuge. It galled his pride, but playing the beaten foe could buy him time. A loosening of the guard. He hung limp from his restraints, keeping his antennae low.

"What do you ffffffilthy creatures want."

"An open exchange of information would be a nice start."

Flirk subterfuge. Zim snarled, "And I suppose your top operatives would give information to the enemy on the first day of capture." He paused, then grinned at the strobe light that drilled spots in his vision. "Hah. Wait, they probably would, since you're weak earthlings and have no defense against brain probes."

The sound of a pencil scratching paper filled the speakers, and Zim's smile froze. What had he said that was worth writing down? Had he said something important? Impossible. He was merely mocking them. But maybe they hadn't developed brain probe technology...

"You may be right about letting an appropriate amount of time pass before admitting defeat, but frankly, it's been three weeks."

Zim blinked at the strobe.

"Three weeks. You haven't eaten. You don't seem to sleep. Your vocal stamina is impressive, but it seems there's a limit on that. We have some interesting blood and skin samples, scraps of data from your rants, and a wealth of information from the young man who hauled you in."

Zim sucked air through his teeth, inhaling blood and hacking. "Dib."

"Indeed. He filled in quite the profile of you. It is… well. It has put those of us in charge of deciding your fate into conflict with each other."

One antennae lifted.

The voice continued. "On the one hand, according to first hand accounts and scattered records brought in by Dib, you are clearly hostile. Violent. Willing to experiment on sentient species. Happy to inflict fates worse than death on anything alive to get what you want. You also seem to have no hint of what we would call conscience about these things. To some of us, this is more than enough to bring the Swollen Eyeball under our department and hand you over in exchange for the resulting data. That would be what we call killing two birds with one stone. Do you know what that means, alien?"

"Your stoopid earth platitudes about flapping dart-faced monsters means nothing to me, monkey man."

The voice chuckled. "It means we get to pull you apart and see how your species works and what all their weaknesses are while you're in so much pain that you're telling us anything we want to know to make it stop."

Zim bared his teeth. "I could make this stop anytime I want, earth filth. I only humor you because it amuses me."

"Ah, yes. The self destruct mechanism. Dib mentioned that. Go ahead. Try it."

Zim hesitated. "I'm not about to give up that easily."

"I'm sure. I'm also sure you can't get at it, even if you want to."

Zim sneered in the direction of one speaker as he reached inward for the self destruct—the pain ripped through him from neck to spooch and left him gasping for breath. What was he reaching for?

"Your life support seems to function well enough on its own, but anything more requires certain signals from your brain. Signals that can be tracked, halted, and punished."

Air burned in his throat. He spat more green on the cement. There was more on the ground than he remembered there being a moment ago. How long…?

"Are you ready to speak with us?"

A fragment flitted through his head. "Something… said… something… some of you want… Eyeball." His head rolled to the side. "Disagreement?"

"Some of us would prefer less intrusive ways of getting your cooperation. Dib swears that isn't possible, but we doubt the completeness of his knowledge."

Zim pulled his lips back from his teeth as far as possible. "I'll die before betraying my Tallests."

Pencil scratching.

"WHAT DID I SAY?" Zim shrieked, jerking against the restraints.

Silence for a moment. Then, "We know you have been rejected from your society. We can be reasonable. We have procedures for seeking asylum, though extraterrestrials are a first. We currently have no indication that you are anything but a monster, but that is just one child's observation and watching how you behave under interrogation. You are certainly hostile, but you are the first alien the US government has made contact with and that's worth a lot. It gives us an incentive to be rather patient with you. So, we're willing to give you the chance to prove you can be reasoned with. There's a lot we can learn from each other."

Zim rested his head against his shoulder, thinking. This feeble attempt at interrogation and intimidation was nothing compared to his training. If they thought three weeks in these conditions could break Invader Zim, they were wrong—whoever _they_ were. However, there was no benefit to enduring this indignity if it didn't lead to a good opportunity, and clearly there were no opportunities to be had by staying in this room. Back to subterfuge. Give them a little bit. Just a taste of what they want, then stab them in the back and run.

He hacked a clotted loogie out of his throat and rasped, "What… did you have… in mind?"

* * *

"And that is the proposal. Do you have any questions for us, Mr. Steelman? Mrs. Steelman?"

"Hah," Della choked a laugh. Questions? There were so many piling up, they'd caused a ten-car highway wreck in her brain and nothing could get through to the tongue.

They'd come in to discuss the next stage of the adoption they'd been working toward, so where was Ms. Blandbury, their caseworker? Why was there a nameless government suit sitting in Ms. Blandbury's office? Aliens actually existed? If one was custody, wouldn't it be more easily contained in the fabled Area 51 than in the Steelman household? Why had _they_ been chosen for this dubious honor? Did the US Government somehow find Tom and Della Steelman to be capable of rehabilitating an extraterrestrial asylum-seeker? How did they even _screen_ for that? Did this nameless agent think through the consequences of putting a hostile alien in the same household as two children adjusting to new parents? Or in the same household as two parents adjusting to new children?

She turned her head to stare at her husband, gesturing incredulously at the agent.

Tom had his eyes fixed on the papers spread out on the desk. The adoption papers. Mikko and Tiana's personal files and documents. Photos of the visitation days.

Della bit her lip, reading his focus. The presence of the nameless agent behind the desk at this stage was certainly... unsettling. Upsetting. What if they turned the agent's offer down? What would happen to Mikko and Tiana then? They'd just started to make progress with the girls...

The agent leaned forward and rested his elbows on those papers, steepling his fingers under his chin. "We understand this is a rather large inconvenience. It will require weekly interviews and the regular submission of logs about the alien's behavior. A certain amount of surveillance will be necessary, for your own safety. To compensate you for the extra time spent on this project, we would be happy to move you through the adoption process quickly and waive any further interviews, required classes, and fees. To compensate you for the extra expense, well. We'd be happy to make accommodations for you in that area as well. Including, but not limited to, a move to a larger house or a remodel to add a wing on your current home specifically for the alien in question."

A muscle in Tom's jaw flexed. Della's fingers curled under as he glanced at her. She nodded once as her first question extricated itself from the pile-up of thoughts.

"First off, just what do you mean by 'a certain amount of surveillance'?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maneem was first written in 2007. It is story one of six, and I learned a lot about writing in the seven or so years it took me to finish the series. As of this writing it is December 2020 and I want to fix a LOT of things in this story, including bringing it up to date with my current writing style, which requires a full rewrite from scratch and not just surface editing. So I embark on this project in an effort to flesh out story areas that need work, re-logic the illogical, do more lore-mining and worldbuilding, and snip rabbit trails that went nowhere. I also think certain plot points and OCs might be better received if I integrated them earlier and negotiated a balanced powers system for them. So, without further ado, here's my attempt at rewriting the Resilience Saga—or at least Maneem—over the same plot skeleton. The old version will remain on my profile as-is and since it's complete, I promise to not take it down (I only launch bazookas at stories that are incomplete that I know I'll never return to). The rewritten fics will have (Rewrite) in the title to differentiate them from each of the original versions. VelociraptorAddict is helping me hammer out a lot of my worldbuilding and lore bugs, so when things make more sense than before, GO THANK RAPTOR. Also read her story, she's a fledgling fic author who's just spreading her own wings with her Zim fic, "Chomp".
> 
> I know I've disappointed in the rewrite department before. I can't promise this will be different, but I have some more help this time and I will really try hard to see AT LEAST Maneem through.


	2. Handoff

The back of the boxy vehicle was dim and reeked of saltwater excreted through oily pores. Zim tried not to breathe too deep. It helped to focus on keeping still in his seat as the armored car jostled along. He kept sliding a little to the right or left on the bench and bumping into one of the hulking humans assigned to deliver him to his new place of residence. Across from him sat a woman dressed in what seemed to be formal attire. Her head was topped with spiky hair so blindingly yellow-green that it might have lit a building at night and one ear was jammed full of metal bits all along the edge. She kept tugging on her suit at all its openings, a sour expression on her face.

She leaned toward the front seat and knocked on the divider to get the driver's attention. "Hey, we almost there?"

"Five minutes."

Resettling herself, she glanced at a clipboard in her hand. "Okay, let's go over this one more time. We're placing you with the Steelman family on a provisional basis. Tom and Della Steelman are in the process of adopting two kids; Mikko and Tiana. The girls will arrive later this week."

"I have a functional memory, sweatmonster. All this was explained to me."

"Last minute review is on the checklist, just deal with it you little…" She paused, took a deep breath, and smiled at him. "Just let me read through the review, most honored visitor. Also, it's Rosalie. Agent Rosalie. I'm your supervisor and your agency contact. If you need anything or have any issues with your treatment, you call me." She fished a small, rectangular piece of paper out of her jacket and held it out to him.

He stared at it. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"It has my phone number on it. Keep it so you don't forget."

Zim lowered his eyes to the piece of paper, scanning the information on it, then turned away. "I do not forget."

Rolling her eyes, she stuck the paper back in her jacket. "The Steelmans also have this information if you are wrong about that. Anyway, your room in the house is completely wired for visual and audio surveillance and select other rooms in the house are similarly tapped. Attempt to remove or tamper with this system and it will be considered a violation of your agreement. Any attempt to harm or coerce any human, especially your hosts, will be considered a violation. There is no three strikes system. You have one chance to get this right."

"Nobody ever answered me about what happens when I am attacked and I did not start the harm."

"If," Rosalie corrected, "And it's unlikely. We have you under constant watch. We'll step in and diffuse any tension before it gets that far."

Zim kept his face still and slowly swiveled his right antennae. _Brainless worm. There is no "if."_

The car pulled to a stop. Rosalie glanced back at her clipboard. "Right, and don't attempt to modify your PAK. Try not to reach for your tools unless you're in a supervised session with our agents. According to initial observation from your interrogation period, life support should be functioning perfectly but you'll have to earn other PAK privileges with good behavior."

"What you mean is that I am allowed to earn only my non-lethal equipment with good behavior, and only when they can study it. They will never allow me full use of my PAK again."

She shrugged, tugging on her sleeve. "Not my department. Ready to meet your new family?"

Zim spat at her feet.

Rosalie shook her head slowly, then turned to open the doors. "I give it three days tops before they take you back and hand you over to the Swollen Eyeball."

Zim jerked, digging his claws into the horrible orange jumpsuit they'd dressed him in. _Survive. Grovel. Be the beaten captive._ He inched his antennae lower, dipping his head toward her. "I. Offer. Apologizing."

"Whatever. Let's get this over with." She climbed out the back and the soldiers nudged Zim, none too gently, to follow.

* * *

"I don't like it. I don't like it. I don't like it." Della paced her usual path around the couch in the center of the living room, arms folded, head and shoulders thrust forward like a racehorse. Her feet hit the ground hard and fast. Tom sat on the couch and watched her pass by every fifteen seconds.

They'd already talked about this. They'd wrangled negotiations with an agency nobody seemed to have heard of. They'd stepped aside for full-scale home remodeling efforts that took a mere two weeks and cost them nothing. They'd marked which rooms were truly private and which ones they would have to watch themselves in. The adoption had sailed through the final stages with no hiccups and the girls would be arriving with their meager belongings in a few days. Their special guest would be there any minute now. There was no going back on the deals they had made. Della knew all this, of course.

It just felt wrong on so many levels. Constant surveillance. A dangerous alien. Home repairs for free. Paperwork they thought they would have to fight through suddenly waived. What had they gotten themselves into?

"I don't like it." She sounded plaintive, but as soon as that creature got here it would be her job to keep this uneasiness to herself. And he wasn't here yet. And she needed someone to know it still didn't sit right.

Tom leaned forward and snagged her arm as she passed, tugging her onto the couch next to him. He wrapped his arms around her and tucked his chin over her head. She heaved a sigh, burrowing in his embrace. "I know," she mumbled into his chest. "I know. I just don't like it."

"Mhmm." He kneaded the back of her neck with one hand. The moment flipped from tense to blissful in half a second. Her neck muscles slowly loosened the stranglehold they had on her bones. Another twenty minutes of this and she could handle anything this weird situation had to throw at her.

_Knock knock knock._

No such luck. Her shoulders snapped back into place as she drew herself to her feet. Tom rose and took her hand. He squeezed it once, then walked her to the door.

It opened on the most uncomfortable looking woman Della had ever seen, what appeared to be two SWAT team members, and a waist-high green-skinned person dressed in an orange jumpsuit that looked three sizes too large. There was a wide metal band around his neck with a blinking blue light by the seam. Solid red eyes took up at least half his face. Della stared down at him, her mouth hanging open as his eyes narrowed to slits. His arms stuck tight against his sides. He was practically vibrating in place.

"Mr. and Mrs. Steelman, hello." The woman offered a hand and Della shook it. "My name is Rosalie. The file we gave you should have me listed as your contact with the agency. This is Zim. No known surname."

Tom edged forward and offered a hand to Zim. The alien flinched, backing up into the soldier behind him and throwing up his arms defensively. "Do not _touch_ me, you mountainous horgath!" he shrilled. "They said there would be no attacking of Zim!"

Rosalie's smile was thin. "Our apologies, Mr. Steelman." She turned to Zim, hissing, "For all the time Dib said you've been here… you seriously don't recognize this as a greeting?"

Zim did not reach for the hand. He would not take his eyes off it. Slowly, Tom withdrew the handshake.

Della cleared her throat. "Well, please come in. We'll show you around, maybe sit down over some tea and talk."

Rosalie hesitated. "Ah, Mrs. Steelman, did you read the packet? He can't be given anything water-based."

"Right, right. I'm sorry. I read the packet, tea's just a force of habit. His diet is based out of carbs and sugar, right? I have cocoa. Is milk base okay?"

Zim finally peeled his eyes away from Tom and scowled up at Della. "Is that the udder-squirtings of the dimwitted cowbeast?"

"Um. Yes."

Zim squared his shoulders and jutted his chin forward. "It is a repulsive concept. However, it is consumable if masked with large quantities of sugar and chocolate. you are permitted to serve Zim this beverage." With that, he marched past them into the house. _Military_ was the word that flashed through Della's mind.

Rosalie's smile cranked up to eleven. "He has such a charming way with words. Well, wouldn't you know it, I'm late for my next appointment. I'll take a rain check on the tea, but we appreciate the offer. My number's on file. We'll be watching, but please call with any questions, or to report any incidents. Which shouldn't happen. He knows he has to behave."


End file.
